


Purple Tulips

by tooweak_tosurvive



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Crying, Domestic Fluff, Erik Has Feelings, F/M, Fluff, Leroux-based, Married Fluff, but it's cute i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-19 07:42:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29622924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tooweak_tosurvive/pseuds/tooweak_tosurvive
Summary: Christine buys Erik flowers. Erik reacts predictably.
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Comments: 24
Kudos: 56





	Purple Tulips

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fanfiction I've written in probably about 7 years, so apologies if it's rough! In this story, Leroux Erik and Christine are married. I don't know how it happened or if Raoul was involved at all but they're married in this and that's all there is to say about that. This idea came up in a discord chat and it was so cute I needed to write it!

The air was cool, but not chilled. The sun shone brightly behind the clouds on that April morning, that Sunday morning that Christine Daae had gone to the market. In her arms she carried the result of her shopping, some bread, a few leafy vegetables, a square block of sharp white cheese, and a small neatly wrapped package of fish. Christine had spent the majority of the money that Erik had given her for the shopping but had a few francs left over. Knowing her husband to be a wealthy man, Christine did not feel the need to save the remainder. A ballet rat no more, she could afford to waste a few francs on a pretty trinket or treasure.

She meandered through the market and enjoyed the fresh air on her face. It was not often that she was able to be totally alone with herself. In that grand opera house, it was impossible to be alone. The managers, the dancers, the costumers, the janitors, the maids, the maestro, her brother and sister-artists all shared that space with her. Should she find anywhere to enjoy her own company, who was to say that she was truly alone in those moments?

After all, it was said that a ghost lurked the walls and halls of that grand opera house.

While there were still whispers of the Opera Ghost among the ballet rats, Christine knew the man behind the mystery. He would play a ghost for others, but for her he was a man.

A stall caught her eye. A beautiful idea came to her. The young woman smiled.

. . .

The ghost sat at a broad oak desk, a book propped up, a large drafting paper spread in front of him, a gas lamp cast a warm yellow glow over the space. The ghost’s eyes were shut tight, in powerful concentration. His fingers danced in the air, tracing the invisible pathways of his thoughts.

Erik opened his eyes widely, having found an idea worthy of putting on paper. He added another line and note to the drafting paper. It was a sketch of his underground home. The pipes which carried gas and water were drawn to the greatest degree of accuracy he could manage from memory. And it should be accurate, he mused, considering he built it all himself.

Yes, yes, this lair had been suitable for him for many years. Such a fine crypt for the corpse that occupied it. Macabre and elegant, black and red, flowers and fine rugs – these were the things that fitted the nature of the home’s denizen. But, now, it must be changed!

Christine, his living wife, his perfect bride, could not be expected to live in such a tomb. He, a dead man, was content with the dark and damp, but she was a living creature! She must have light and warmth and all the comforts that living creatures required.

New gas piping would need to be added. More lamps were required. There must be a way to mimic the sunlight that would never grace the gloomy crypt of his home. A corpse can easily live without sunlight but living things needed more consideration.

Erik made additional notes to the sketch. This work was beautiful in a way he could not have imagined, to make a beautiful home for his beautiful - living! - bride. As if summoned by his thoughts, Erik heard the noise of footsteps coming down the Rue Scribe entrance. A key turned in the lock. Not wishing to make his wife feel self-conscious of his stares, Erik resumed his task at the sketch.

Christine unpacked the shopping into the kitchen. Erik smiled at the domestic scene happening behind him. Once, months ago, she had trembled at his touch. He had slipped a golden ring on her finger and she had shaken like a leaf as he promised his friendship and protection. But in time, fear had turned to love. Trepidation turned to trust. Hesitation turned to certainty.

On that night he considered them wed – for what man of God would consent to marry an innocent child to a corpse? – he promised her a gentle husband to protect and provide, should she love him for his true self. And he was loved for his true self.

Erik broke out of his reverie to look at Christine. There on the kitchen table among the other shopping she brought home was a bunch of purple tulips. Intrigued, he went to the kitchen and joined her.

“My dear, did you have a pleasant morning?” he asked.

“Yes, but I am afraid you’ve discovered my surprise,” she answered, quirking her mouth to one side.

 _Of course_ , he thought, _she had brought flowers to brighten the gloomy room_. Erik felt jealous at the thought of Christine yearning for a reminder of the world above, a world she had forsaken when she chose him! But the jealousy was quickly snuffed by misery. He was a wretch for not providing her the comforts of the surface world. How mortifying that his little wife had to buy flowers for herself! A husband’s joyful duty!

But Christine’s gentle smile once again pulled Erik away from his manic thoughts. “I bought them for you. A present for you, Erik.”

Shock hit him and his amber eyes widened in their deep black sockets. _A present for Erik, from his living wife?_ Tears welled in his eyes and he dropped to the floor at her feet. Reverently, he held the hem of her dress in his ghastly fingers and kissed it, weeping.

His hot tears made the inside of his mask humid. They gathered at the point of his bony chin, his lips and chin being the only uncovered part of his face, and he could not find the strength to wipe them away. He was a miserable creature to be sobbing at the feet of his wife, but the gesture had overwhelmed him.

Small hands stroked his head. Though the sensation was dampened by the wig he wore, Erik felt immense comfort at this and slowly eased his crying.

Christine lowered to meet Erik’s level. She waited silently. Erik looked up and saw that she held the tulips in her hands.

Christine gently pressed the flowers into his hands and smiled at him. “You should enjoy these and put them somewhere nice.”

She rose and went back to putting away the shopping. Erik put his face in the flowers and inhaled. There was no scent. But he knew this was a natural thing for tulips, which were to be enjoyed for their beauty and not their substance. He grinned at the irony of himself holding the flowers, an ugly thing but one with substance.

Erik felt the satin petals of a tulip. It was as smooth as the skin of Christine’s cheek when he put his ruined lips on them.

He must get a vase and fill it with water. Tulips are one of the few flowers that continue to grow after harvesting, he knew. But they will only wilt in the stale air and artificial light of his home. They will wilt and die as all flowers do that are placed in tombs.

Had his wife wilted? Had his perfect bride withered in the darkness of his sepulcher? Though her skin was always fair, she had paled over the months. Her blonde hair was less vivid than it had been. All his fault, what a wretched corpse he was to make this living creature suffer five levels below the Earth.

Misery and tenderness stirred Erik’s heart. He rose from the floor and placed the flowers gently on the kitchen table. He wrapped his arms around Christine and placed his head on top of hers, hugging her gently from behind. Christine made a small hum of contentment.

“You are too kind to your Erik, my dear. Erik does not deserve such things.” He gently rocked her side-to-side. “My beautiful and kind Christine.”

The purple tulips sat in a blush-colored vase for two weeks. The petals opened and fell off at their usual rate. A few weeks later, a new bunch of violets took residence in the same vase.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please post a comment if you want to and any constructive criticism is welcome :)


End file.
